


Patient 101

by Atom_Golfer



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Insanity, M/M, Spoopyness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atom_Golfer/pseuds/Atom_Golfer
Summary: Being in love with a mental patient can be a dangerous thing, especially if you don't know it. You never know what's going to happen next...





	

The rusted, worn gates slowly creaked open, gleaming in the soft country moonlight. The endless chirping of crickets wavered around, fading into the limitless darkness engulfing the asylum. As he proceeded forwards, a soft night breeze wafted through the area, chilling him to the bone. 'That breeze has been around for four years now' he thought to himself as the grass beneath his feet crinkled with any movement and the small fountain trickled away behind him. In front was a tall shadow, looming over him. The finished, brown, wooden boards formed the walls, with dark, empty windows dotted around. Seemingly empty. A wide, jet black doorway showed itself, with cracks of light peeking out. Stood outside these dreaded doors was a fimiliar face.  
“Hey, Jack! You ready for the examinations?!” yelled Felix, the Chief Warden.  
“Not really; the nightmares kept me awake again,” replied Sean – or Jack, as his friends liked to call him. You see, Dr McLoughlin had the all-important job of checking on the patients and helping them make a steady recovery. Unfortunately, mental patients are highly erratic, and there is no definitive way of identifying their brain patterns. This means that they scream and laugh at random times and, often, say very disturbing things. This, as you can imagine, causes nightmares.  
“That’s a shame, but you have a job to do,”  
“Fair point,”  
The close friends proceeded through the immense doors to a broad hallway, surrounded by splinters of wood, sticking out of the walls and small wooden doors to each room, with a formal label dictating which patient number is situated inside. The lights on the ceiling frequently flickered on and off, never ceasing to giving this hallway an ominous aura. As they proceeded onwards, unforgiving screaming and laughter eminated from the rooms around them. When they went past Patient 90, Jack got confused – his patient was normally the senile man in 54 – and began to speak up.  
“Who am I seeing today? Usually, I see 54 and Mount Moon only has 100 Patients,” Mount Moon was the name of the mental asylum, which most called ‘Old Moony’.  
“Well,” Felix began to answer. “Today, Old Moony received a new Patient. The Bureau want you to see to him. He killed his younger brother by lacing his beer with poison. He then tried to elaborate on a suicide, but was arrested before he could. In custody, he lost his sanity and was then sent here. So, let me introduce you to Mark Edward Fischbach, also known as Patient 101.”  
Felix slowly – and deliberately – opened the door to reveal a young man, probably in his twenties. His coal black hair was adorned with a red tint at the top. He had deep, chocolate eyes, a forest of facial hair and wore a thick straight jacket with the standard Mount Moon outfit. He stared at Jack with wide eyes, even when he sat down, while not blinking.  
“Have you come to test me?” the Patient begins, in a deep, raw, raspy voice drawing out the word ‘test’, as if it’s a horrifying fate.  
“No, Mr Fischbach, I’ve just come to ask you a few questions that will help me to help you make a healthy mental recovery. So, first of all, did you have any reason for killing your brother?”  
“No, he just annoyed me. He also wasted all my money on beer. He was going to die from excessive consumption of alcohol anyway. I thought I’d make it quick and painless,”  
“Question Two. Why did you try to take your own life?”  
“I had done what I needed to do. I’m going to hell anyway,” he says as he begins to giggle.  
“Final Question. It says on your report that you cut your own arm yesterday. Why?”  
“They shouldn’t have left me in here with knives,” he exclaims. The deranged psychopath bursts into uncontrollable laughter. Beads of sweat formed on Jack’s forehead. He had seen some bad patients, but none were as clearly insane as Mr Fischbach.  
“Now, it’s my turn to ask you a question,” 101 continues. “What’s stopping me from killing you right now?”  
“The warden outside with a taser. Thank you for your time,” Jack concluded as he scribbled some notes on his clipboard and hurried outside.


End file.
